Pyrolysis
by cinnamonspiders
Summary: Fiona caught Cordelia smoking, once.


Her bedroom door creaks, and Cordelia hates having to calling out, "Who's there?" but she does, and the silence that follows is long enough for the smell to reach her. Chanel No. 5 and cigarette smoke. It's not a surprise when she hears her mother's soft voice, "It's just me, 'Delia."

Cordelia swallows, hard. Her shoulders tense and she clenches her fists. She bites her lip. Fiona's heels click closer and the scent of her, the roses and the jasmine and the bergamot and the Turkish Royals, becomes stronger, cloying.

Fiona caught Cordelia smoking, once, when she was thirteen years old. Cordelia had rummaged through her mother's purse while Fiona was getting ready for a date, stolen two cigarettes, and snuck out to the backyard after she had heard the front door clicking shut.

The smoke stang, and Cordelia coughed on her first inhale. She tried again, tried to hold the smoke in for a few seconds. A mild buzz crept up from her extremities, and a smile tugged at Cordelia's lips.

She had been a few inhales in when she had felt it, that wave of angry heat that meant she'd been caught. "Put that out," Fiona spat, voice ringing loud and sharp, and Cordelia's heart sank. She looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway, dark in her little black dress against the bright, warm light coming from inside the house.

Cordelia stared, transfixed. "Out, Delia," her mother repeated. Cordelia remained motionless, the hand she had been holding her cigarette in paralyzed.

It felt like a pair of hands on her, searing hot, swirling up her body to wrap around her throat, and squeezing. Another pair of hands pried her fingers apart, and Cordelia watched as blisters formed onto her skin. She dropped the cigarette. The heat traveled down her body, and Cordelia watches her ballerina flat-clad foot squashing the cigarette onto the ground.

Fiona's power released her throat, and Cordelia caught her breath in ragged gasps. The blisters faded in front of her eyes. Cordelia looked up to see Fiona walking back into the house, shutting the door behind her.

Cordelia didn't smoke again until after the first time she and Hank had sex, after their fifth date at a restaurant in the Vieux Carr . He had reached over for his pack on the nightstand and pulled one, while Cordelia covered her chest with the stained sheet. Hank's face was lit brightly by the flame from his lighter for a second, and Cordelia wrinkled her nose at the smell, smoothed a strand of flaxen hair behind her ear.

Hank handed her the cigarette, and Cordelia shook her head. "Come on, live a little," he chided. More like die a little, Cordelia remembers thinking. Still she reached over and grabbed the cigarette out of his hand, brought it to her lips. She inhaled, and felt that old familiar sting she hadn't forgotten after all those years.

"I'm here to help you with your treatment," Fiona's voice rings loudly, suddenly right above Cordelia. Cordelia clears her throat, displeased, and listens as her mother puts a tray down on her bedside table. The smell of Earl Grey and antiseptic reaches her, mingles with the smoke and the perfume.

Cordelia sits up in her bed, and Fiona leans over and stacks pillows behind her, against the headboard. Fiona drapes her arms around Cordelia, to help her scoot back a few inches, to sit comfortably. Cordelia's body stiffens at the unexpected, enveloping touch. Fiona always sprays her perfume behind her ears, and Cordelia can smell it, stronger than before. She gasps.

It's always like this and she hates herself for it. Her mother's flesh is soft, and warm, and Cordelia wants to huddle closer and be held, and that's okay, that's comfort. Then it kicks in, Fiona's magic. It brushes over her entire body, warm, safe yet anything but. It swirls into Cordelia's mouth and down her stomach. It tugs at her insides, makes her skin tingle and her heart beat faster. Cordelia needs it to stop.

"I can sit by myself, Fiona," Cordelia spits, and for once she's glad that she can't see the hurt on her mother's face. Fiona lets go and steps back, and Cordelia scoots herself back against her pillows, suddenly very cold. She pulls the covers up to her chest.


End file.
